See No Evil, Speak No Evil
by Alexannah
Summary: When the Ministry accuse Harry of murdering Cedric, he has to go into hiding. A plan is formed by Dumbledore, but is it foolproof? Rating is for violence in later chapters. HPLL
1. The Calm Before the Storm

**_Rating/Warnings_:** M for off-screen violence/torture, injury description, child abuse

**_Disclaimer_:** My own version of OotP, meaning I don't own anything more than the plot (and as always with AUs, that's a debatable subject). Thanks to Star Polaris for letting me use one of her excellent plot points (not saying which at the moment)!

* * *

**See No Evil, Speak No Evil**

By Alexannah

**Chapter One: The Calm Before the Storm**

"Wake up, boy!"

Harry groaned and rolled over, pulling the covers over his head.

"Get up!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered.

The day seemed to be starting normally. Harry had got into a nice little routine after term had ended to keep his mind off … other things. First, Aunt Petunia woke him up by banging on the door. He would go downstairs, make Dudley breakfast, eat his own, wash up, study till lunchtime, then after lunch do whatever chores the Dursleys set him until dinner, after which he studied in bed before falling asleep.

Just before the summer, Voldemort had returned by using Harry's own blood in a ritual, and Cedric Diggory had been killed in front of him. Harry found that whenever he had nothing to do, depressing and dark thoughts found their way into his head, visions of Cedric and Wormtail and Voldemort, and every regret Harry could possibly have about the previous year. So he kept himself busy to keep his mind occupied.

The problem was sleeping. Harry was dog-tired from all the times he'd woken in the middle of the night from nightmares, all the same: reliving the scene in the graveyard with Voldemort rising from the cauldron, duelling with him, and Cedric dying.

Today he was assigned the job of getting the milk and paper from the corner shop. Normally he would have argued, not wanting to leave the house unless necessary, but he was so tired after the last night – a particularly bad one – he didn't bother, just decided to be quick.

Harry hardly noticed his surroundings as he walked as quickly as he could to the shop. He would just be in and out, he determined, and wouldn't stay to chat with the ever-talkative woman behind the counter. For all he knew she could be a Death Eater in disguise.

He shook his head, half-amused. Maybe the paranoia was coming from Moody – no, Crouch Jr.'s – _Constant Vigilance_s.

The cool air from the fridge and the fan was a relief on his face after the hot sun streaming down on him all the way to the shop. He hesitated, letting it wash over him before paying and having to go back outside.

Standing in the queue, Harry was watching a fly buzzing round the light, his right hand absent-mindedly fondling his wand in his pocket, when a stranger entered, dressed in a long coat with a hat pulled over his eyes. Harry barely had time to register the fact that the poor guy must be roasting before he strode over to the counter and pulled out a gun.

The whole shop froze.

"Good …" The man checked his watch. "Afternoon. This is a robbery."

_Really, I wouldn't have guessed_, Harry thought sarcastically.

"If you all could kindly put your hands where I can see them. Thank you very much."

Harry swallowed. He was concealed behind a woman with a buggy and twin toddlers. If he could get out his wand without the man seeing …

"Ma'am," the man addressed the student behind the counter, "if you could be so generous as to empty the contents of your till into this bag." He passed her a small sack with his free hand.

If he used magic – especially in a public place – he would be in huge trouble with the Ministry, and that was the last thing he needed. But suppose the man used the gun on someone?

The girl's hands were shaking as she filled the bag with the contents of the till. "That's it," she said nervously, nearly dropping it as she handed it over. "It's not much …"

The stranger took it and pocketed it, then moved backwards towards the doorway, keeping his gun trained on them.

Maybe if he used a Trip Jinx surreptitiously …

Too late. The man gave a little bow at the door ("Have a nice day; the pleasure was all mine") and scarpered.

Harry sighed and slumped against the wall as the student lunged for the phone, the twins in front of him started wailing, and the whole shop was thrown into chaos. He left his goods behind, hurrying out of the shop as the girl behind the counter was trying to tell the police what happened at the same time as apologising to the twins' mother that she didn't have the correct change.

There was no sign of the robber outside. He had vanished into thin air.

* * *

"Boy, there's a policeman downstairs to see you. What have you done _now?_"

"I was a witness to the robbery at the shop," Harry answered wearily, sliding off his bed and looking for a T-shirt. He padded downstairs.

The first thing that struck Harry as slightly odd was that the policeman was in uniform. Wouldn't they have a plain-clothes detective on this sort of case? He decided he'd been watching too many of the crime dramas on after the news over the summer and that he was being paranoid.

"Mr Harry Potter?" the policeman enquired. Harry nodded.

"DI Bourdon." He showed Harry his identification. "I understand you were a witness to the robbery at Little Winging

Why did they have to make everything so long-winded? Harry nodded.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me to the station, where you will have to give a statement."

"Do I have to come now?"

"Yes."

Harry frowned slightly. Why couldn't he just be questioned there and have done with it? Something wasn't quite right. But even though he'd been paranoid ever since the Third Task, he didn't think this man was a Death Eater …

His hand twitched towards his wand even so. "All right," he agreed, trying to keep the wariness out of his tone.

Something was definitely not quite right, Harry thought, as he was escorted into the policeman's car. This was too serious for a simple stick-em-up. Even homicide investigations could be dealt with in the home, if _Midsomer Murders_ was anything to go by. So why was Harry going along with what was clearly a plan to kidnap him?

As they turned the corner away from Privet Drive, the policeman seemed to relax. "Mission accomplished." He looked sideways at Harry. "Relax Harry, I'm not a Death Eater."

"Who are you then?" Harry asked nervously, his hand tightening on his wand.

"Someone who never gets socks at Christmas."

Harry nearly fainted with relief. "_Professor Dumbledore?_"

"The very same," the man said in a different, familiar voice. "Sorry if I scared you."

"How did you know about the robbery? Where are we going? Why couldn't you just have asked the Dursleys if -"

"Slow down, one question at a time!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "I knew about the robbery because I committed it."

"You what?"

"I've sent the money back anonymously – with interest as compensation for their trouble."

"But why?"

"To get you out of Privet Drive without alerting anyone."

"So you went to all this trouble just to … Wait, I've left my stuff behind! My school things, everything -"

"Sorry," Dumbledore said quietly. "I didn't have a choice."

"What do you mean?"

"Harry, if you'd stayed at your aunt's house any longer you would have been in danger. I had to get you out of there without letting people know it was me, because then that would put me in a dangerous position too -" Dumbledore swerved to avoid a speeding silver car and pressed on the horn.

"Is Voldemort trying to kidnap me again? I thought you said I'd be safe there? Relatively safe, anyway -"

"Not Voldemort. Worse. This will be much harder to deal with."

"Who?"

"The Ministry. They want you for murder."

**TBC …**


	2. Making Plans

**Chapter Two: Making Plans**

"Excuse the mess," Dumbledore apologised, moving stacks of papers off the table in the middle of the room. "I didn't get a lot of notice before picking you up."

"Where exactly are we?" Harry asked nervously, looking around. There was one window through which sun shone, the other walls were dry bare stone. The furniture was minimal: just a table, a small cupboard, an ordinary desk, a couple of chairs and a bed in the corner.

"My basement," Dumbledore answered. "Tea?"

"Um, okay."

Harry rubbed his arms. It was cold. "Why did we have to take a Portkey?"

"Sorry," Dumbledore said seriously, "but I wouldn't put it past the Ministry to be watching the house, and probably the Floo as well. And you're too young to Apparate." He looked round at Harry properly. "Are you cold?"

"A bit," Harry admitted.

Dumbledore banged on a pipe set into the wall. "Stupid heating. I'll try and fix that later. In the meantime, here." He pulled off his jacket and passed it to Harry.

"You really think the Ministry are watching your home? What if they come in and search it?"

"There are only three other people besides you and I who know of this basement's existence," Dumbledore assured him, "and I trust all of them. Besides, they can't legally search the house without a warrant, and at present Amelia Bones – she's the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – is strongly objecting."

"Couldn't Fudge get them one?" Harry ground out the name.

"He could try but it would result in a great deal more paperwork. I expect they're much more likely just to sit and wait for me to do something suspicious."

"More suspicious than robbing a corner shop and then kidnapping me?"

Dumbledore grinned. "I doubt they even know those have happened yet, let alone that I was the one who did both. Your tea. And if they're watching the house from the outside then they won't even be aware I've left – I Apparated straight from here to Little Winging."

Harry took the mug, grateful for the warmth. "What about the window?"

"It's not real," Dumbledore chuckled, "just bewitched. Like the ceiling in the Great Hall."

"Oh." Harry paused. "Um … Professor …"

"Yes?"

"What happens now?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily, leaning on one of the chairs, his face turned towards the wall. "I don't know, Harry. I think for the moment we're just going to have to sit tight and hope this mess sorts itself out soon."

"And if it doesn't?" Harry asked nervously.

"Then … we'll have to come up with a long-term plan. But for now Harry, try not to worry."

Harry sighed and sat down, clutching his mug.

"What's been happening, anyway?" he asked. "I've been getting the Prophet, but it's useless, and I haven't been in contact with anyone else 'cept for Ron and Hermione up 'till now." He paused. "Oh."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Oh?"

"What are they going to think if I just suddenly vanish?" Harry murmured, half to himself. "They'll think Voldemort's got to me … and I can't tell them where I am … at least, I'm assuming I can't," he directed at Dumbledore, who shook his head.

"We can't risk it – if you were caught we would have no time for appeal, they would administer the Kiss straight away …"

"The Dementor's Kiss?" Harry yelped, sitting down hard on one of the chairs. "I thought murderers got life!"

"They did until a week ago. There have been quite a few changes made in the few weeks since I was kicked – I mean voted – out of the Wizengamot."

"You got voted out? Why?"

"Fudge has too much power there," Dumbledore sighed. "He has most of the Ministry under his thumb, which unfortunately means anyone who states publicly something he doesn't like suffers for it. And my being voted out just happened to take place the day after I made a public statement saying Voldemort had returned."

Harry groaned. "So he's still in denial?"

"Well … I wouldn't call it denial, exactly," Dumbledore considered, "more of an overinflated ego … but yes, he's still denying Voldemort's return – at least publicly. What he privately thinks I don't actually know."

"So until Voldemort comes out into the open …"

"There won't be a case for you, neither will the wizarding population be prepared for Voldemort's comeback." Dumbledore sat down in the other chair, holding his own tea.

"It just gets better," Harry muttered darkly.

"Your tea's getting cold," Dumbledore reminded him gently. Harry took a sip.

"So is there _any_ good news from the wizarding world? I remember in the Hospital Wing you mentioned something about gathering people …"

"Ah," Dumbledore brightened. "In the last war, there was an anti-Voldemort movement called the Order of the Phoenix – I was head of it. Your parents were members," he added.

"Really?"

He nodded. "I sent Sirius to round up some of the old members, and we set up Headquarters at his old family home. So far our main aim is to convince as many people to join the cause, and keep an eye on both Fudge and Voldemort's circles."

"How are you doing that?" Harry asked curiously.

"Which part?"

"Voldemort's circle. Is Snape a spy again?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry," Dumbledore corrected, "and when did I say that?"

"Several times in the last year, I believe."

"Did I? Goodness, I must be more careful. But yes, he is, and it's proven quite useful so far. Voldemort is still lying low, but at some point he will come out into the open, and when he does we want to be prepared."

Harry nodded seriously. "Any idea when that might be?"

"No idea whatsoever."

"Well, that's helpful," Harry said sarcastically and sipped more of his tea.

Harry awoke with a jump and rubbed his eyes. The sound came again.

Throwing his covers aside, he felt for his wand and lit it. The light dazzled him temporarily and threw dark shadows round the chilly basement. Remembering where he was, he tensed, wondering if the Ministry had found him. Where was Dumbledore?

The sound was footsteps above. They paused every now and then, and there would be a scraping sound as if someone was opening and closing drawers. Harry swallowed. It could be Dumbledore doing work. But it could also be an Auror searching the house.

Harry's grip tightened on his wand and he slid carefully off the bed, pushing the blanket off of him. He hesitated – if it was an Auror, he couldn't risk giving himself away.

The noises paused. Harry stood stock still, waiting for someone to grab him. After what seemed like an eternity, the footsteps moved to above the corner where the entrance to the basement was. Harry held his breath. There was a moment of silence, a creak, and Harry stumbled backwards as light suddenly beamed through the entrance. A pair of feet appeared, followed quickly by a body and finally a head Harry knew, and he relaxed.

"You scared me to death!" Harry whispered furiously.

"Sorry." Dumbledore closed up the entrance and lit the lamp on the table. "I thought you would be asleep."

"I was, you woke me up." Harry rubbed his eyes. "What's the time? What are you doing up this late?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "You sound like Madam Pomfrey. And for your information, I have been working on an idea – a plan, shall we say, in case this mess doesn't sort itself out immediately."

Harry brightened. "Oh?"

"Don't get too exited. It will be very tricky and involve a lot of acting."

"I can act," Harry said hopefully.

Dumbledore turned the lamp up more and sat down. "Well, I've been trying to work out the best way to keep you hidden from the Ministry, and I thought, the best way to hide something is to put it in plain sight."

"Plain sight? What do you mean?"

"We would forge an identity. Base it on real people, so it's harder to trace. Not impossible, mind you, but it would be difficult as long as whoever we chose would back up your story. Your appearance would be altered and you would have a 'family' - someone we can trust - that is willing to play their part. As yet I don't know who might be willing, I can contact someone in the morning."

"So … I would be pretending to be the son or whoever of someone else, who would go along with it?" Harry said thoughtfully. "What if someone found out I didn't exist?"

"I think if everyone played their part well it would be very unlikely. But there would be a risk whatever other way we could try, and I personally think this is our best bet." Dumbledore paused, looking at Harry as if expecting him to ask something else. Harry swallowed.

"Who were you thinking of asking to pretend to be my family?"

Dumbledore's moustache twitched. "I was going to write to my brother's daughter and her husband. That way I can keep an eye on the situation without arousing suspicion."

"Oh." Harry considered. "That's a good idea."

"Thank you." A clock chimed somewhere, making them both start. "Goodness, is that the time? Go back to sleep, Harry, we've got a long day tomorrow and – no offence – you look like you haven't had a decent night's sleep in weeks."

Harry couldn't argue with that.

**TBC …**


	3. The Boy Who Killed?

**Chapter Three: The Boy Who Killed?**

The next day _was_ long. Harry remained in Dumbledore's basement the whole time, while Dumbledore went back and forth from his house to the Ministry, Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix' headquarters, the location of which Harry didn't know. As far as Harry knew, Dumbledore was trying to convince those in power to repeal the sentence on him. From the muttering, pacing and swearing, Harry could tell that he was having little success.

"Couldn't you please let Ron and Hermione know that I'm safe, at least?" Harry asked fruitlessly when Dumbledore returned to the basement cradling a large Firewhiskey. "They can keep secrets, and they'll worry when they find out I'm missing."

"I'm sorry, Harry, I wish I could. But even if I didn't tell them where you were, if they knew I knew where you were, they could easily figure it out if we put our long-term plan into place. And then they would have to act too, which would not be fair on any of you."

Harry sighed. "Okay, I get it. What about the long-term plan, anyway?"

"I've discussed the situation with my niece and her husband, and they are more than happy to play their part." Dumbledore gave a weary smile. "I believe Anita's exact words were 'honoured'."

"Great," Harry muttered. "Honoured to pretend to be the family of the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Actually, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, "I think it had more to do with what they've heard about you from me, rather than your celebrity status."

Harry couldn't help but feel slightly cheered by this. "Oh – right. So, how are we going to do this then?"

"Well for starters, I think we should wait a little while until things have settled down." Harry's heart sank at the prospect of remaining in the basement for much longer. "We can't be too obvious. You will be staying with me, after all."

"I will?" Harry was confused. "Why not with them?"

"That was my original idea, but I think it would be less convincing if you were with strangers," Dumbledore replied. "Harder to act. You and I know each other fairly well already."

Harry could see the logic in this. "Hence the waiting period."

"Exactly."

"Wouldn't it still be too obvious, though? I mean, I go missing, you're being watched by the Ministry, then suddenly you sprout a great-nephew nobody's heard of that's my exact age."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Firstly, Harry, please lose the 'great', it makes me feel old." Harry smiled. "Secondly, I have no intention of sprouting a relation your age – no offence, Harry, but you look pretty young for fifteen. We could just about pass you off as a first-year."

Unsure whether or not to take offence, Harry said, "You mean – start Hogwarts all over again?"

"If necessary. I have a feeling this mess will not be sorted out quickly, and therefore we need to ensure you don't arouse suspicions at school by enrolling straight into fifth year."

"Yeah, I guess." Harry sighed.

"I imagine," Dumbledore said quietly, "that it would also be easier to act if you were not in your usual peer group."

Harry nodded. "S'pose."

* * *

Hours turned into days. Harry had already lost track, shut up in the basement, but according to Dumbledore it had been just over a week. There was nothing about Harry's disappearance yet in the _Daily Prophet_, nor about his sentencing, but according to Dumbledore it was the main topic of conversation within the Ministry – it would not be much longer before it leaked to the press.

Dumbledore began fine-tuning the details of their plan, which would apparently take a while to set up. A few days after he began, the _Prophet_ had a monster headline.

_**THE BOY WHO KILLED?**_

"I don't even want to read it," Harry sat, throwing the paper down. "This is worse than Rita Skeeter's reign."

Dumbledore checked the article. "Actually, Harry, Rita Skeeter is the one who wrote it."

"Oh, great," Harry muttered. So much for Hermione's blackmail. "Professor, did you know she's an unregistered Animagus?"

Dumbledore didn't appear to have heard, frowning as he read the entire front page. "It could be worse," he said optimistically, placing the paper back on the table. "They've quoted several people, most of whom think the Ministry has got it wrong."

"I guess that's something."

"On the other hand, the ones who don't have been given a lot more emphasis."

"Yeah, well, that's journalism for you."

* * *

It was not until nearly a month had passed, with the Ministry absent of leads, that the plan was put in place.

Dumbledore, who had recently started insisting Harry got into the habit of calling him "Uncle Albus", appeared in the basement one morning carrying papers.

"What are they?" Harry asked, sitting up and pushing down his covers.

Dumbledore smiled. "Our plan."

The birth certificate read _Leo Orion Dumbledore_. Only one parent's name was present, however.

"Ah," Dumbledore said when Harry questioned it. "Well, yes, that was a slight hitch I didn't think about until last week."

"What?"

"Your 'parents' have only known each other nine years, and been married five. Somehow I don't think we could have passed you off as a nine-year-old, let alone a five-year-old. So Matthew is your stepfather." Harry nodded. "I thought it best if we didn't try to put another name down on your birth certificate in case it was followed up. A gap is better than a story that doesn't check out."

"Makes sense." Harry put the birth certificate aside. "What's the rest of these then?"

"These ones are just papers enrolling you at Hogwarts. This is your Muggle passport; Anita and Matt enjoy taking aeroplanes abroad, goodness knows why. These are just records that you've been to nursery school, had tutors, swimming lessons, etc. The usual childhood things."

Harry nodded, although he had never been to nursery school or swimming lessons.

"And, last but not least." Dumbledore opened a folder. "Photographs, for you."

Harry thumbed through them curiously. Some were obviously of his new parents; they showed a couple perhaps in their mid-thirties, the woman of whom had the Dumbledore blue eyes and auburn colour waves down to her shoulders. The man was darker, with intense but warm brown eyes, hair as black as Harry's, and skin of a light caramel colour. In some of the photos, Harry saw a child as well.

"That's you," Dumbledore said. "Anita is rather gifted at magical photography; she inserted an image of what young Leo Dumbledore would most likely look like. Undetectable."

"I'm going to be a redhead?" Harry thought it would be the Weasleys' dreams come true. If they knew.

"Of course." Dumbledore chuckled. "Don't worry, it will look perfectly natural."

"What are these?" Harry asked, coming across a set of photographs of a house's interior.

"What my house, and Anita and Matt's house, look like from the inside. It's best you get used to them before you start playing the role. These ones -" Dumbledore pulled out a few of the same room, "are of your bedroom at their house."

Harry smiled as he noted the many Quidditch posters plastered around the blue walls. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I had a feeling you would like that."

So much work had gone into his new identity, Harry realised. It struck him hard that he could be in the role long-term. Very long-term. Possibly even permanently, if the Ministry never repealed his sentence.

No, that wouldn't happen. Voldemort would be revealed at some point, either by his own or other's making, and then the Ministry would realise that Harry hadn't murdered Cedric after all.

If Fudge was not too stupid for that.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

"Yeah." Harry snapped back and continued looking through the photos. "Who's this?"

"My brother, Aberforth. Anita's father."

"My grandfather, then," Harry murmured. "So, what were the inappropriate charms on the goat?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Goodness me. It was a long time ago."

Harry gave a wicked grin. "Well, you _are_ pretty old, Uncle Albus."

"Cheek! I hope you're not planning on doing that a lot."

"That's what families do, isn't it? Tease each other?"

Dumbledore gave him a strange look. "You don't know?"

Harry shrugged. "How would I? If I'd made a crack about Uncle Vernon being old I would have been shut in the cupboard for three weeks."

"Cupboard?" Dumbledore said slowly.

"My old bedroom," Harry explained. "Before I got moved to Dudley's second room. Don't you remember? My first Hogwarts letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs."

Dumbledore shook his head, concern written all over his face. "The letters are magically addressed."

"Oh."

* * *

It was long past midnight, and Harry was sound asleep. Albus was, as usual, still awake, and preparing the last few pieces of the plan.

He was, however, distracted. His conversation with the boy earlier was running through his head. The memory of how Harry had been when he first entered the wizarding world – quiet, nervous, small for his age, enthralled by the world he had entered and no desire to return to his relatives even for two months' holiday – haunted his thoughts. Albus had known that Harry and the Dursleys would never, and had never, been close, but the decision to leave him at Privet Drive had been one he had stood by even when Harry had practically begged him at the end of his first year to let him stay at Hogwarts over the summer.

Had he made the right decision after all?

Of course Harry had needed protection, but Albus was wrong to have made that his only priority. A child needed a family too. Not just blood relatives, but somebody who cared, somebody who treated him properly. Had Harry really grown up in a _cupboard?_ Albus shuddered. The boy had been speaking nonchalantly as if it didn't matter, and it was this that shocked Albus the most.

His musings were interrupted by a _whoosh_ from the fireplace, and he looked up to see his niece brushing soot off her robes. "Anita, my dear." Glad for the excuse to alter his train of thought, Albus stood and embraced her. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

"What do you think?" Anita's eyes twinkled as her uncle's and she held out something carefully wrapped. "I've finished it."

"Ahh." Albus let out his breath in one go as he took the package. "It's ready?"

She nodded. "I've already tested it on Matt, and it's perfect. You know me, Uncle Albus, I wouldn't be bringing it to you if it wasn't."

Albus smiled. "Harry's disguise is ready. Good." He sighed. "I'm still hitting a problem with the potion, though, Anita. I can't find a way to get around -"

"Albus," she interrupted. "We've had this discussion. I'm perfectly willing to take the potion as it is. Matt took a bit of persuading, but he's agreed to let me do it. It should be more convincing, as well."

"Anita, I really don't think -" Albus began, but she overrode him.

"Look, it could take months for you to figure out a way around it, if you ever do. And enough time has gone by to not raise suspicions. You can't leave it any longer, the Ministry could get a warrant to search your place any day, and if they find Harry -"

"I know," Albus said. "All right, all right. I'll start on it right away. If you're absolutely sure."

"I'm positive." Anita kissed him on the cheek. "I'd do anything. He's only a child. And," she said, smiling slightly, "We all know you love him. Harry may as well be family."

"Leo," Albus corrected.

Anita nodded. "Leo." She paused. "I should go home and tell Matt we're ready, then. Let me know when you've made the potion, Albus."

"Wait." Albus caught her arm before she could leave. "The mask?"

"Oh – right. You want me to put it on him?"

"You're the one who knows how."

"All right. I'll bring it over in the morning. Goodnight, Uncle."

Albus watched his niece leave, nerves about the plan beginning to rise, but simultaneously something she said helping to calm him.

_We all know you love him. Harry may as well be family._

Harry, or rather Leo, would have a family now.

**TBC …**


	4. Leo Dumbledore

**AN:** Have added a ship. I wasn't going to do ships in this one originally, but I gave in. It'll include Harry/Luna. I suppose now I've broken my plan to have no ships, some Albus/Minerva will seep in at some point as well.

* * *

**Chapter Four: Leo Dumbledore**

Harry took a deep breath. "Okay. I'm ready. It's not going to hurt, is it?" he added.

"Ask your, uh, _mother_," Dumbledore said with a grin. "Anita? Are you coming down?"

Suddenly nervous, Harry swallowed as the woman from the photographs came down the stairs. She smiled warmly at him, and he did his best to return it. This was really happening.

"I'm here," she announced needlessly. "All ready to go. Hello, Harry, I'm Anita."

"Hi," Harry said.

"Goodness, Uncle Albus; you're right, he is short for his age, isn't he?"

Harry glared at the two of them, and Dumbledore chuckled.

"Consider it fortunate, my boy. Don't even think about getting too tall before all this is over, or we might have to start giving you shrinking potions to keep you looking like a first-year."

"Not like I can control how tall I am," Harry muttered.

"So, shall we get cracking?" Dumbledore said, rubbing his hands. "When you're ready, my dear."

"Harry, why don't you sit down, make yourself comfortable?" Anita suggested, starting to carefully unwrap a package. "This will take a few minutes."

Harry sat down on the bed, butterflies in his stomach. "Um, am I going to feel – anything?"

She chuckled, reminiscent of her uncle. "It will feel a little strange when I'm putting it on, but I promise it won't hurt. Could you take off your glasses?"

Harry obliged. "What exactly is it?"

"A mask."

For a moment Harry thought he had misheard her, but once she had finished unwrapping the parcel, he saw it contained a floppy, flesh-coloured item that was partly edged with auburn hair.

Biting back the question he wanted to ask if it would look at all realistic, Harry just braced himself for the worst.

"All right, Harry, I need you to close your eyes for a moment, okay? Don't open them till I say, and try not to move your face too much."

"Okay," he mumbled.

He jumped slightly as something cool pressed itself over his face, like a wet flannel. His scalp started to prickle, and the sensation spread over the top of his head and down the back to his nape. Something brushed gently over his eyelids and around his distinct features, applying a light pressure, which began to tickle. He was just starting to feel that he could not resist the urge to itch any longer when another cool wave spread over his face, soothing it and then finally dissolving.

"One moment more, Harry," Anita's voice said from in front of him. He waited patiently, and his eyelids heated, not quite burned but close, for a moment, before returning to their original state.

"All right, open your eyes."

Harry opened his eyes, and immediately they began to water from the light. Dumbledore quickly dimmed the lamp and summoned a mirror before Harry had to ask for one.

His jaw gaped as he saw his reflection. It was as if a stranger was staring up at him out of the glass. There was no visible sign that any kind of mask, magical or otherwise, had been put in place; the Dumbledore features had seamlessly merged themselves into Harry's body. Even the eyes, although he had no idea how that worked, were different; that piercing blue was gazing up at him from beneath a fringe of auburn waves. They also seemed to be functioning perfectly without his glasses. Harry raised a tentative hand and touched his nose, his mouth, his chin – it all felt normal, if differently shaped.

Finally he looked up at the adults; Anita was standing back, satisfied with her handiwork, and Dumbledore was staring with as much wonder as Harry was. "Anita, you've done a marvellous job."

"I have, haven't I?" she said with no modesty. "Some of my best work, I think."

"Did you model him on someone?"

"Yes; myself. Leo's face is my own, at age eleven, and male of course."

"How is the mask removed?" Dumbledore asked.

"I made it so only one of us can take it off, just in case. I'll teach you the spell. How does it feel, Harry?"

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times. "Weird."

"It will take some getting used to," Dumbledore said. "It all will."

Harry just nodded.

"Well, I should be getting back home, then," Anita said. "And we can get on with stage two. Albus? The potion?"

Harry looked from Anita to Dumbledore, slightly confused. Dumbledore, seemingly very reluctantly, handed over a flask of some unknown content. She took it firmly from his hand, and made to open it.

"Not here, now!" Dumbledore said, grabbing her wrist. "The effects are instant; wait until you get home."

"What's going on?" Harry asked.

"It's just stage two, Harry," Anita assured him, although it didn't answer his question. "Actually, I suppose it's Leo now, isn't it?" She paused. Harry swallowed as she stared for a moment into his eyes, exact replicas of hers.

"And I guess you're Mum," he finally forced himself to say.

Anita nodded slowly. Dumbledore seemed to be holding his breath. After a long moment, Harry's 'mother' moved forwards and pulled him into a hesitant, but apparently sincere, one-armed hug.

"This is weird for all of us," she murmured in Harry's ear, "but we're doing it because we care, all right? Remember that."

"Okay," Harry mumbled.

* * *

"Shall we go through it one more time?"

Harry inwardly groaned, but agreed.

"The Portkey will take you to your bedroom at Snidget Avenue," Dumbledore said.

"There will be no-one else in the house, because Dad -" the words still felt strange on Harry's tongue, even having memorised the routine, "- is taking Mum to St Mungo's."

"You will pack up your clothes and things in the suitcase under the bed, and wait in the hall …"

Harry almost zoned out, going through the plan one more time. At the end, Dumbledore nodded, satisfied.

"Are you ready, then?"

Harry nodded.

"You have your wand?"

"Of course." Harry drew it out. As his wand was too recognisable, Dumbledore had done some complex magic to make it appear to be an ash dragon-string creation. It would still be his own wand, and the disguise would not hold up to close magical scrutiny, but would prevent someone from recognising it by accident.

"Well then, I will see you later."

Harry waited for Dumbledore to give him the Portkey, but the man hesitated. After a moment of apparent deliberation, he stepped forward and pulled Harry into a hug.

Not having expected this, Harry instinctively froze up, but reminded himself that he was supposed to be used to this now. He was no longer Harry Potter, an orphan on the run from the law; he was Leo Dumbledore, member of a real family, used to physical contact.

Up until this point, it hadn't quite hit him. A family. He had a family now. Harry relaxed, and hugged Dumbledore back firmly. _Uncle Albus_, he mentally corrected himself.

After a moment, too soon for Harry's liking, Dumbledore drew back, and he let go. Harry looked down at his hands, blinking furiously.

Dumbledore held out the Portkey – the same raggedy slipper that Harry had originally travelled to his house by – and Harry took it. With a familiar jerk, the basement was lost in a whirl of colour.

The surface Harry had collapsed on was very soft. He kept his eyes squeezed tightly for a moment, half-fearing to be arrested, but when nothing disturbed him he opened them.

A bright blue quilt, patterned with animated broomsticks, was pressed up against his face. Harry lifted his head and looked around. The bedroom was familiar from the photos, but felt quite different being inside it.

Harry grinned as the figures in the Quidditch posters waved at him before continuing their eternal games. His grin faded. He was supposed to be packing – part of the plan.

Suitcase under the bed? Harry knelt down and looked, and found an old brown case. He pulled it out and dragged it onto the bed, before opening it and turning to the chest of drawers.

The first drawer yielded underwear. Harry emptied the lot into the case. The second drawer held t-shirts, most plain but some were clearly wizarding, with names of various Quidditch teams and wizarding bands on them. The third drawer held trousers and jeans, and the wardrobe held shirts, and robes – plain coloured robes and dress robes. Harry ignored the dress robes, packed a plain russet set, and all the Muggle clothes.

He hesitated. What else was he supposed to pack? He gazed around the room again. A broomstick was leaning against the desk, but first-years weren't allowed them – mind you, he would be allowed to take it to Dumbledore's, wouldn't he? Harry looked back at the suitcase – better not, it wouldn't fit.

His attention turned to the shelves. A row of books, well-worn; Harry inspected the covers and found they were mostly Muggle children's novels. One shelf was crammed to bursting with games – wizard chess, Gobstones, Muggle games, multiple packs of playing cards. Some stuffed animals, all looking well-loved. Harry's heart went out to the centrepiece, a teddy bear that looked extremely old and had only one eye. The lowest shelf was covered in photographs. Harry had seen copies of most of them in Dumbledore's basement, but drank each one in again in turn.

What else? Harry searched the desk drawers, found parchment, quills and ink, as well as a comb, an assortment of sweets (not Bertie Botts', Harry noticed), a bursting album of Chocolate Frog cards, a tin of weirdly-shaped stones, a ball of purple string, a camera, a watch, three odd socks, a penknife, two bookmarks and a pair of sunglasses.

How on earth was he supposed to decide what to cram in the suitcase? He had never had this much stuff before in his life.

He turned out his suitcase, and went through the clothes again. One set of robes, one pair of jeans, one smart pair of trousers, one shirt, half the t-shirts, all the underwear. Harry folded them all up neatly, put the rest aside, and turned back to the rest of the room. He selected a few of the books that looked the most interesting, a pack of Exploding Snap, all the sweets, all the stationary, the camera and the penknife and packed them, and he put the watch on.

Looking back at the shelves again, he took down the old teddy bear. It was about the size of a Quaffle, and had once been chocolate brown judging by the little fur left in its ears, but had been hugged until it had become threadbare and dirty grey. The remaining eye glinted amber at him.

Harry looked back up at the row of photographs. There was one he had taken a particular liking to of his 'parents' on swings with five-year-old Leo on his mother's lap. Harry picked it up, stared at it for a moment, and turned to pack both photo and bear.

He paused, some more photos catching his eye. In addition to the ones he'd been shown by Dumbledore, there were some others, older photos, of people he didn't recognise, which he assumed must be other family. One picture featured two young boys, the older clutching a teddy bear. The photo was black and white, and the bear had both eyes, but Harry knew instantly it was the one he was holding.

He took the photo out of the frame and looked at the back.

_Grandad and Uncle Albus, ages six and eight._

A lump arose in his throat as he replaced the photo and put it back in its place.

Harry considered, and collected up all the photos featuring Anita, not just the first he had picked out. He smiled almost tearfully at the photo of the Dumbledore brothers and the bear, and turned his back on the shelves.

Everything just about fit in the case, except for the teddy bear. Harry left it out, snapped the case shut, glanced around the bedroom one more time, and ventured downstairs, dragging the case with one arm and clutching the bear under the other.

Now he just had to wait.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was pacing. For Minerva McGonagall, this was not an unusual sight. Usually however it was confined to his office at Hogwarts, but now they were waiting to see Cornelius Fudge.

"Albus, you're going to wear a path in that carpet. For Merlin's sake, sit down."

"As long as I know the Ministry is putting the life of an innocent minor at risk, Minerva, I cannot."

She sighed, and was relieved when the door was finally opened. Fudge didn't have a chance to beckon them in before Albus barged his way in, ignoring the squeaks of indignation. Minerva braced herself for a battle, and followed.

Why she was there, she wasn't sure. Albus had asked her to come for support, but he was doing most of the talking, interrupted frequently by Fudge's blustering protests. It had been the same every time they met since Fudge had put the order out for Harry's arrest.

Shortly into the conversation, or rather argument, Fawkes appeared in the middle of the room in a flash, making Minerva jump but neither man noticed. He settled on Minerva's shoulder, dropping an envelope into her hands marked _Albus—URGENT_.

"Albus?"

He paused mid-sentence and turned around. "Yes?"

"You've got a letter. It says urgent."

"Could you open it please, my dear, I am in the middle of something."

Minerva was tempted to make a face at his back, but slit the envelope open anyway. There was one small piece of parchment, scrawled on in a hurry.

_Albus—_

Anita's been taken ill and is at St Mungo's. I need to stay with her, and she may be here a long time. Leo can't stay on his own; please could you look after him for the time being? He's packing now and will be ready for you to pick him up when you get there.

Matt

"Isn't Anita your niece?" Minerva asked, straining her memory for times Albus had mentioned his family. The instances were few and far between; he preferred to keep them out of the limelight as much as possible.

He turned around again. "Yes. It that from her?"

"You'd better read it for yourself." Minerva handed the note over, and Albus' face paled as he took in the words. "I'm sorry, Albus."

A familiar and predictable conflict arose in his eyes. Minerva knew what it meant. On the one hand, a family member needed his help. On the other, Fudge was about to send Dementors out looking for an innocent fifteen-year-old. The duty of a headmaster or the duty of an uncle. She decided to save him the decision.

"I could go and get—your nephew?—if you want; you can carry on here," she suggested.

Albus looked back at a disappointed Fudge, and then back to her. "Minerva, you are a life-saver." He took one of Fudge's quills and scribbled on the back of the note. "This is the address. Tell him I'll be there as soon as I can, all right?"

Minerva left Albus and Fudge to their debate and Apparated to Snidget Avenue. Number seventeen didn't look at all out of the ordinary, as if Dumbledores lived there; but then, they couldn't all have inherited the eccentric gene. As Minerva approached, the front door opened and a boy, about twelve maybe, looked out and saw her.

"Leo?" she said, stopping at the bottom of the steps. "I'm Minerva McGonagall; Albus sent me."

"Why, where is he?" Leo asked.

"In a meeting with the Minister for Magic," she replied. "It's very important but he'll cut it as short as he can."

Leo nodded. "Are you taking me to his home then?"

"Yes, I am. Have you got everything you need?"

Leo picked up a suitcase and a large worn teddy bear from the hall, deposited them on the front step and closed the front door. "Yeah, I'm ready."

**TBC …**


	5. Searching

**Chapter Five: ****Searching**

It was hard to act as if he was used to the outside of Albus' house, and not gape at it. Harry kept his eyes low, trying to avoid Professor McGonagall's without looking rude, as they walked the dozen or so feet from the Apparition point up the path to the house.

Four stories high and wide-spanning, the awe was not so much in the size as the beauty. Harry didn't have to know a lot about architecture to appreciate the elegant structure and the antique carved beams. Albus had obvious miscalculated by not letting him see photos of the _outside_ of his home beforehand, but it was too late for that now.

Professor McGonagall, it turned out, had a key to the house and knew the password, and let them both in. Harry stole a quick stare at the crest on the front door on the way in—probably the Dumbledore family crest. It would be a good idea to learn it. Family history wouldn't be a bad idea either.

"I'm sure your uncle won't be too long," Professor McGonagall said kindly as Harry tried hard not to gape around at the magnificent oak-panelled walls—the photos did not do the place justice. "I could get you some food if you want; have you eaten?"

"No," Harry said, "but I'm not really hungry."

"You should have something." She placed the suitcase, which she had insisted on carrying for him, by the door and smiled. Harry couldn't be bothered to protest as she led him into the kitchen.

It occurred to him that maybe he should ask Albus exactly how close he and Professor McGonagall were. While she clearly didn't know that there was no such person as Leo Dumbledore, she seemed to know her way around Albus' kitchen perfectly well. Harry was too tired to resist her insistence that he eat something and let her scramble some eggs for them both.

It felt strange with Professor McGonagall waiting on him. She wouldn't let him help either, but talked to him about Quidditch. It felt awkward her not knowing who he was, so he spoke as little as possible. She must have thought he was incredibly shy. Maybe that was for the best.

If all conversations with anyone he already knew were going to be this hard, Harry realised, going back to Hogwarts would be torture. His Head of House was awkward enough; what about his old friends? They would be in the common room whether he spoke to them or not; he would be seeing them every day—

Then it hit him. The answer was obvious. He couldn't be in Gryffindor anymore. He hadn't thought anything about being Sorted again before, but now it hit him like a tonne of bricks. His heart fell, but he reminded himself that it would be easier if he was in another House; he would barely glimpse his peers then. He would have to ask Albus to have a word with the Sorting Hat before September.

He was picking politely at his eggs when he heard the door, and tensed before Albus' voice rang through the house. "Minerva? Leo?"

"In the kitchen, Albus," Professor McGonagall called.

Harry hesitated as Albus entered, not sure whether to stand up or not. The problem was solved for him, as Albus didn't give him a chance to move before he'd enveloped him in a tight hug. Again Harry forced himself to relax, and a lump arose in his throat as he clutched Albus in response. The strange thing was, he thought, that it didn't feel fake at all.

"My dear boy," Albus murmured in his ear. "Are you all right?" He pulled back enough to see Harry's masked face.

Harry nodded shakily. "Y-yeah."

"Your father's going to keep us both updated," Albus said, brushing Harry's auburn fringe out of his eyes. "And we'll go and see your mum as soon as possible, I promise."

"Thanks," Harry said quietly, gazing at the ground. He wasn't sure exactly what the right words were to say, and was saved by Professor McGonagall.

"I suppose this is my cue to leave," she said, picking up her cloak.

"Minerva, thank you," Albus said with a smile at her. "You're an angel."

"I shall be quoting you on that when I'm next owed a pay rise."

Before Professor McGonagall could leave the kitchen, however, a jangling rang through the house. Harry, who still had Albus' arm on his shoulder, felt him stiffen. "You couldn't see who's at the door on your way out, could you my dear?" Albus said without a quaver in his voice.

"Certainly." A long silence stretched as she walked from the kitchen to the front door and opened it. Harry strained his ears, and his heart clenched as he recognised a familiar voice.

"Just step aside my dear, we have a warrant and there's no point in getting yourself mixed up in this."

Professor McGonagall's outraged protests were brushed aside as Fudge appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Dumbledore."

"Your timing is impeccable as always, Cornelius," Albus said in a tone that chilled Harry. "In case you had not seen far enough past your own business to notice, my family has been having a rather misfortunate day and the last thing my nephew—" his hand tightened slightly on Harry's shoulder "—needs is Aurors invading his home tonight. I ask you, please, wait until tomorrow."

Fudge shrugged off the request. "We've been waiting long enough, sorry, Dumbledore. Here's the warrant." He pushed a parchment scroll into Albus' hands, which Albus opened and began to skim through. Harry started shivering as a chill crept over him, followed by dread as he realised why.

"Hold on!" Albus caught hold of Fudge's arm to stop him beckoning in the Aurors. "You can't bring a Dementor in here!"

"The warrant says I can," Fudge replied, his eyes narrowing. "Let me go or you'll be sharing a cell with Potter tonight."

"The warrant doesn't account for my right to object, should there be a minor in the house," Albus replied. "And I object most strongly to those creatures being brought anywhere near my nephew. So either search the house with Aurors only, or bring the Dementor back when Leo is no longer living here. It's your choice."

Fudge scowled, but ordered the Dementor away. Harry went back to his food as the Aurors started sweeping the house. So far, Fudge had barely glanced at him, but Harry was still afraid that he might start considering other possibilities once he found no Harry Potter hidden away. The eggs were now cold and he waited until Professor McGonagall, who was determined to wait until the Aurors had gone, had her back turned before dropping them in the bin.

"You look exhausted, Leo," Albus said to him a few minutes later. "Maybe you should go to bed. Any chance you could search the bedrooms first, Cornelius?" he added, turning round to address Fudge.

"It's not for you to say where we search first, Dumbledore," Fudge growled. "But the bedrooms have already been searched, so you can use them."

"Where did Minerva put your things?" Albus turned back to Harry.

"In the hall," Harry said quietly.

"You need to stay with me, Dumbledore," Fudge said. "Until my people have finished."

Albus sighed. "Fine. Oh, Leo, I almost forgot—you should sleep in a different bed, the springs in your usual one have gone. Think it was the jumping that did it." Albus shot Harry a look over the top of his glasses, and the acting was so effective Harry actually felt guilty. "First door on the left at the top of the stairs."

"Thanks, Uncle Albus," Harry murmured.

Nobody stopped Harry from taking his case up the stairs, and into the bedroom Albus had directed him to. It was lit only by the single lamp on the chest of drawers. Harry felt his way to the window and pulled back the curtains to let in the dimming evening sun.

Already made up and waiting, the soft white cotton sheets and delicately woven silk bedspread seemed to be calling him. Harry resisted the urge to clamber into bed fully clothed and instead unpacked his things, putting the clothes away in the polished oak wardrobe and chest of drawers, and arranging the other things on the empty shelves. As he was finally pulling on his new pyjamas, there was a knock at the door. "Leo?"

"Just a moment." Harry made to take off his glasses, remembered he wasn't wearing them anymore, and dropped his hands. "Come in."

"They've gone," Albus said, coming in the room. "And I brought you a hot chocolate."

"Oh," Harry said. "Thanks."

"Come on, into bed with you." Albus gestured at him, and Harry gratefully scrambled into the four-poster. "Here."

Harry took the hot chocolate, but Albus had handed him a piece of parchment along with the mug.

_They__ may be listening in._

"Thanks, Uncle Albus," Harry said.

He felt rather awkward as Albus pulled the covers up around him, and even kissed him goodnight on the forehead. Wasn't this perhaps overdoing it? Did eleven-year-olds usually get kissed goodnight by their family? Then he remembered that this eleven-year-old's mother was in hospital with an unknown affliction, and relaxed. Anyone listening in would think it normal for Albus to make a fuss in this instance.

They both murmured goodnight, and after turning out the light, Albus left. Harry lay awake only long enough to wonder if an Auror would be listening all night, and hope he didn't snore, before sleep finally took him.

* * *

When he jerked awake after a dream-Voldemort had just cast Avada Kedavra, it took Harry a moment to realise where he was. The previous day's events came rushing back, and he sincerely hoped that if the Ministry was listening in, he had not been talking in his sleep.

He slid out of bed and pulled back a curtain slightly. It was light, but still early. Harry took the opportunity to examine his view of the garden and orchard, before he realised that he was finally hungry.

The bathroom he had spotted last night on the way to bed, and he washed quickly before pulling on some clothes and going downstairs. Albus was not up yet. Harry considered just grabbing a bit of toast to keep him going, but changed his mind.

The aroma of cooking bacon must have seeped through the house and found its way up a sleeping Albus' nostrils, because he stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen just as Harry was turning the rashers over. "Are you cooking breakfast?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "It'll be ready soon. Do you have any brown sauce? I couldn't find any."

"Er …" Albus thought hard. "Left cupboard, top shelf. I think. Either that or next to the cat flap."

Harry looked over at the door leading out into the garden. There was a cat flap in the bottom.

"Have you got a cat?"

"No," Albus replied.

In his search for the bacon Harry had found that various things in the kitchen were not in their orthodox place. The pantry was a mixture of food and potions ingredients, labelled but ordered by alphabet so eggs were in between dittany and elm sap. Ink for quills seemed to be kept in the fridge, while he had found butter and cheese in the pockets of a cloak hanging by the door. Why Albus even had a fridge when there was room in the pantry for everything, Harry didn't know, but he couldn't understand his system at all. And sure enough, standing next to the cat-flap was a bottle of brown sauce, a dirty coffee mug and a rubber mouse.

Harry decided he wouldn't press the issue. Instead he put the brown sauce on the bench, cleaned the mug and popped four pieces of bread (the loaf had been in the cupboard with the saucepans) in the toaster.

"You didn't have to cook breakfast yourself," Albus said, taking over the frying pan. "If you were hungry you could have just woken me, I don't mind. Minerva says I should get up earlier anyway."

"I like cooking," Harry admitted. "And I thought, since you're looking after me, I may as well …" he trailed off.

Albus looked at him. "May as well what?"

"I dunno. Help out, earn my keep a bit."

"You don't have to earn your keep, Leo," Albus said firmly. "You're family."

Harry looked up at him, and Albus met his eye. There was sincerity in them. For some reason, he felt like he had made a faux pas. He didn't know how to respond, so kept quiet and looked back at the toaster, but he could feel Albus' eyes on him for another few minutes.

"I think this is ready, don't you?" Albus said, turning out the pan. "Do you have those plates ready?"

Harry held the plates, which had been in the fridge's freezing compartment along with a tub of chocolate ice cream and something called a Skiving Snackbox, while Albus dished up the bacon, and the toast popped right on cue.

"What's a Skiving Snackbox?" Harry asked as they ate together.

Albus chuckled. "They're sweets designed to make you ill," he said. "Rather ingenious, actually."

"But—why?"

Albus surveyed him for a moment. "Do you promise not to get any ideas in your head, Leo?"

"Er—I can try."

"They're made for students who want to get out of classes," Albus explained. "Give yourself a nosebleed or a fever, and then once the teacher's let you go you take the antidote and, well, do what you want." Albus' eyes twinkled as he said, "And now you know about them I will be keeping a close eye on your attendance record come September, young man."

"Me, skive off classes?" Harry exclaimed. "As if! Where did you get them from, anyway?"

"Ah, that's an interesting question." Albus smiled. "Can you keep a secret?"

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Are you sure I should hear this?"

Choosing to ignore the question, Albus said, "They're mail-ordered samples. The students making them are Fred and George Weasley; I'm sure you'll hear of their reputation within hours of beginning at Hogwarts. They, ah, don't know I'm the one getting all their samples. I requested them under a false name."

Harry laughed. "Why do you want them, though?"

"I thought it would be a good idea to keep an eye on what Hogwarts' best pranks manufacturers are doing. Plus I confess to being curious how they work. The Snackboxes really are complex, it's fascinating studying them."

Of course it would be the Weasley twins. Harry smiled as he finished his breakfast. He wondered how long it would be before they wondered who was sampling all their products. Well, at least he knew they were putting his donation to good use.

Albus was just brewing some coffee (coffee tin located in the library, next to the dictionaries) when Fawkes brought the morning post. The _Daily Prophet_ had nothing new; Harry flicked through it absent-mindedly while Albus looked at the envelopes. There were two.

"Damn Aberforth," he muttered, throwing the unopened _Return to sender_ letter on the table.

"What's the matter?"

"He's out the country again," Albus sighed. "And Europe is getting techy about wizarding communications with Britain. I can't get through to him to tell him about your mother."

Harry knew what that meant. Albus hadn't been able to contact Aberforth—his supposed grandfather—to tell him he had sprouted a grandson.

Albus opened the other letter and read it through. "This one's from your father."

Harry sat up straight. "How's Mum?"

"Not very good, I'm afraid." Albus sat down.

"Do they know what's wrong yet?" Harry knew the answer already.

"No. But she doesn't seem to have got worse since she was admitted, which is a blessing at least. And Matt says they'll allow family in to see her; visiting hours are two till five PM." Albus looked up. "We can go and see her this afternoon."

Harry nodded.

**TBC …**


End file.
